


someday i'll share his home

by placidings



Category: Noli Me Tangere & Related Works - José Rizal
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 18:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12687729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placidings/pseuds/placidings
Summary: We're so in love, fighting against all oddsBasilio finds out that with Isagani, there is no such thing as an impossible dream.





	someday i'll share his home

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to [Leroy Sanchez's cover of Perfect](https://youtu.be/-UChv0ntn-U) a lot while writing this. It's also the song they'll dance to, so for enhanced feels, feel free to listen to it >:) 
> 
> special shoutout to Hannah, the Basilio to my Isagani, because she's been screaming over this song with me too ever since i got the idea 
> 
> and nikki, who seems to always remember me whenever she hears this song
> 
> And Ed Sheeran. Because Perfect is, well, perfect

Being a doctor was everything Basilio wanted—he knew what to expect, and he faced everything head-on, his fears, his personal beliefs stowed away in a dim corner of his mind. He ended up exhausted on most days and ready to cry in the others, but being a man of veritable emotional strength meant he held everything inside, in his chest, until he was ready to blow. 

Basilio trudged through the halls of his apartment building feeling just that; wanting nothing more than just to sink into the comforts of his bed and Isagani’s arms, and maybe watch a new episode of Grey’s— _oh_. 

He stopped dead at the doorway, completely and irrevocably stunned: last time he checked (and that was this morning) their flat was comfortingly cluttered, what with Isagani's law school notes and readings stacked in piles everywhere and his medical books stashed in random corners; along with an amalgamation of clothes and random junk cluttering the couch. All of that disappeared magically—he had been convinced it would take an entire day to clear the mess out—along with their sofa; which was replaced by their dining table, complete with a bouquet resting on a chair and a single candlestick in the center of the table. Strings upon strings of white fairy lights adorned the ceiling and the walls, giving their mundane space an ethereal glow.

Standing in the middle of it all was Isagani, grinning almost shyly at him. 

Yep, he definitely wanted to cry—he just had no idea whether it was from the deeply-rooted anger and frustration gnawing stubbornly at his conscience, or the fact that Isagani, as sweet as he was, picked the wrong day to be romantic.

"What—" Basilio stammered, dropping his backpack by the door. "What is this?"

Isagani gathered him in his arms, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "A surprise. Happy fifth anniversary, darling." 

Oh. Oh, so Isagani did choose the right day to be stupidly romantic—he chose the wrong day to be pissed out of his mind.

"I know that look," Isagani said, his hands coming to rest on the small of his back gently, his brow furrowed in an expression of curiosity and sheer worry. “What happened?” 

“It’s nothing,” Basilio replied, pulling away from his arms. “Rough day at work." 

The law student gingerly took his hand, successfully letting Basilio know he isn’t dropping the issue the way he would’ve wanted it. Basilio fought the urge to flinch. 

“This is more than just a rough day at work, I know it. Come on, Basilio, talk to me—what is it?”

Basilio was at wit’s end—he knew Isagani wouldn’t drop it, never in a million years if it was bothering him, so he yanked his wrist out of his grip and whipped around to face him, hot, angry tears stinging his eyes, threatening to spill over. 

“Fine, you want to know what’s wrong?” He hissed. Isagani looked completely taken aback, but he didn’t care. It surprised him, but the tempest was unleashed, and there was no stopping it. “The last patient I treated was a 15-year old boy who was beaten within an inch of his life by his own father. You want to know why?” 

He could see it in the way Isagani’s soft, patient eyes hardened, in the way his jaw ticked, that he knew the answer.

“Because he got caught putting make-up on, because he was gay. He was gay, and his father hated that he was.” He furiously swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, a choked sob escaping from his throat. “You should’ve seen him with all the bruises; his face was swollen beyond recognition, he had a fucking broken rib, and a concussion as a cherry on top.”

“You have no idea how many patients people bring into the emergency room at the brink of death—whether it be by the hands of other people or themselves—just because of their sexuality. I’m just–just so tired and mad at the people who do this to them or give them reasons to do this to themselves, and I–I hate myself for thinking about breaking up with you just so you don’t have to go through this in the case some homophobic dickhead sees us out together. I–“ 

He doesn’t know when or how Isagani got close to him, but in a flash, his hands were gently tipping his face up towards his own; now pale, shock and fear written all over his features. 

The sight brought him back to reality—the red mist cleared, and all that is left is exhaustion and guilt, and despite the little voice in his head telling him to push him away, he found himself leaning into his touch, letting his tears flow freely. 

“Hey. Basilio, love, hey, listen to me,” Isagani’s voice shook. “I understand–you’re mad, and you’re scared, and I know you’re thinking about how society is so fucked up to agonize someone just because they choose to love someone of their own gender. But trust me when I say it’s not going to be like this forever–we’re headed for a future where where such acts of hate are punishable; where people like you and me and that boy can live in peace without fearing for our lives. The road to that future is tough and rough and we may or may not get hurt at some point, but in the end, we’ll be okay.”

Basilio doesn’t say anything. He wants to lash out, to tell Isagani that a future like that is only possible in a Philippines he built inside his head, but some part of him clung to the hope, the infectious optimism in his voice and his words and his eyes. He tries to avert his gaze, but Isagani doesn’t let him—he swipes a thumb at a tear falling down his cheek.

“We’re going to be okay. Basilio, I don’t want to lose you just because the norms of this country goes against the two of us. I love you, and I’m going to stick this out with you. There is no one else I’d want to spend the rest of my life with but you.” 

Isagani’s words settled in his head with the force of a bag of bricks being dropped from a ten-story building—apparently, Isagani realized the weight of his words too, because he stood there, cradling his face, his own skin whiter than a sheet, his eyes blown open in surprise. All the anger dissipates in his chest, replaced by a warm, pleasant shock of surprise. 

“Was that—was that a marriage proposal?” 

Isagani drops his hands and sticks them in his pocket, averting his gaze as he did so. “I—it was, I guess, I was meaning to ask you tonight but then that came up, so now it doesn’t have to be, not unless you want it t–“

“Same-sex marriage isn’t legal in the Philippines yet, you idiot.”

"Of course you'd say that." He grumbled, carding a hand through his hair. He lifts his head, eyes bright. "But it soon will be. Marriage is a fundamental right ascribed to every citizen of this nation, Basilio, and it won't be long before that right is given to us, too. The church will never allow it, I know that, but through a civil union, the marriage of people like us is fully recognized under the law; therefore granting us the same privileges heterose—" 

Basilio groaned, punctuating the end of his protest with a laugh of disbelief (wasn’t he just mad at the world mere minutes ago?); tears pooling in his eyes at the thought of marrying someone as wonderful and amazing and downright beautiful as Isagani. Marriage is a big word, a terrifying one at that–when Juli died and when he realized marriage is marginally impossible given the circumstances he and Isagani found themselves in, he never gave it the time of day. But then he asked–Isagani stood there, willing to jump into that void with him. His best friend, his partner-in-crime, his lover, his everything.

His doubts were alive and kicking, definitely putting a fight as he tried his best to swallow them down, but it was so easy to believe in Isagani. It was so easy to trust him, to put his faith in him, to let him chase away whatever negativity he harbored in his head. 

“I can’t believe you talked legal to me while asking for my hand in marriage.” 

“You asked.” Isagani worries his lip between his teeth. “And, um, you don’t have to answer me tonight, I just–“

“Yes.” 

“What?” 

“I said yes. To marrying you sometime in the future.”

“Whoa, wait, are you sure you want to do th–“

“I do.” 

Now, five years later, they fought the good fight, and finally, they've won. 

It wasn’t easy; there were nights Basilio lay awake in their bed, watching the ring glitter in the faint lighting after a particularly hectic emergency room situation, wondering if they would ever be given the chance to say their vows. There were days he had to take homophobic jokes and statements in stride from both his patients and his coworkers; days where he had to lock himself in a cubicle to compose himself; days where he had to stop Isagani from picking a fight in the hospital lobby because a nurse was giving them the stink-eye or because a mother couldn’t stop her kid from yelling “ _bakla_ ” at them. There were nights he caught him silently crying angry tears after a protest gone bad or after senate interpellations took turns for the worse. They fought, they argued, but Basilio knew it was nothing but the pressure and the shame being imposed on both of them; he was sure Isagani knew, too. 

Either way, they always come out stronger than they ever were.

The Philippines legalized same-sex marriage after five years of intense debate, both in the process and the arena of politics. A year after the law was signed, here Basilio was, letting himself sink into the comfort of Isagani's warmth, of his arms; placing his head over the spot where his heart thudded in his chest. He closed his eyes; letting Isagani take control as they swayed gently, slow-dancing to the familiar notes of a song they listened to all those years ago, as its climax slowly built; as Isagani sung along, mumbling the lyrics into his hair. They were sweet nothings, really, his voice reaching into the deepest recesses of Basilio's soul and weaving itself there.

If anyone had told him five years ago that he was going to be slow-dancing with Isagani, whom he could now rightfully call his husband, at the reception of their wedding; he would’ve laughed. But now, basking in the love and the contentment that stemmed from being lawfully wedded to him; from knowing he had him in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer; forever to have and to hold; everything was perfect—he never thought happy endings existed in this world, but now, that was proven wrong. 

Basilio Florentino had a nice ring to it. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Five years is a short time. I highly doubt we'll be legalizing same-sex marriage anytime soon, but these guys need to be happy. Either way, here's a friendly reminder: DO NOT be an asshole to members of the LGBT community.
> 
> Also, I know these guys would probably choose an OPM Song for their first dance, but humor me. The lyrics fit them perfectly (l o l pun unintended) 
> 
> feel free to come yell at me on [tumblr](http://tanginae.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/iakambini)


End file.
